Resting Place
by Sionnain
Summary: Scott wants to know why Emma spent so much money on new bedding. She's not sure what answer he wants to hear. ScottXEmma, Astonishing XMen. References ScottJean.


**Resting Place**

Emma was sitting at her desk in the bedroom she shared with Scott when a sudden rush of anger washed over her, seemingly out of nowhere. The feel of it hit her like a beesting; sharp and hot, painful for more for the unexpectedness of it than the actual sensation.

"Emma, what is this?" Scott asked without preamble, marching into the room and slamming the door behind him with far too much emphasis for her liking.

Emma leaned back in her chair, looking up as he waved a piece of paper in her face. "It looks like a piece of paper, darling. I also have a pen and some post-it notes, if you'd like to identify other items on my desk for fun."

He didn't crack a smile at her joke, but then again, he usually didn't. "No, I mean this bill. What exactly did you purchase at Lord and Taylor for three hundred dollars?"

"Oh," Emma said, waving a hand. She smiled at Scott, making a point to appear serene. "That."

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Disapproval radiated off of him like a wave, and it curled low in her stomach and made her faintly nauseous.

"You know, darling, you're so very cute when you scowl at me like that." She went to stand in front of him, fingers dancing up his shirt and trying to pry open his arms. "Did you know that?"

"Emma." His voice was flat, as unyielding as the muscles that remained tensed beneath her caress. 

She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his suggestively. "It was bedding."

His mouth tightened slightly. "I didn't know the students needed new bedding."

"Scott, don't be silly," Emma laughed. "I'm not buying six-hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets for the _students_. They'd ruin them in the wash in ten seconds flat. Not to mention the other ways teenage boys are apt to ruin sheets."

"Emma…do not tell me you used the Institute's MasterCard to buy sheets for our bed."

"All right. I won't tell you." He was still far too tense, so she disentangled herself from him and she perched on the desk instead. She crossed her legs and leaned back with her chest prominently displayed. "Am I not the soul of perfection, adhering to your every desire?"

She could have sworn she saw his lips twitch at that, and his voice was less tight when he spoke. "Were there no sheets that cost less than three hundred dollars?"  
Sometimes she found his strict adherence to rules exciting, mainly when he was berating others for failing to follow them. Other times, it was simply exhausting. Like now. "Scott, stop being so plebian. We live in a mansion. Do you expect me to sleep on scratchy horrible sheets?"

"Fine. But this is coming out of your paycheck."

"You sleep on them, too, you know. Perhaps you ought to contribute half."

She could mentally hear him counting to ten. "I'll sleep on something else."

His words made her suck in a breath and look upwards. Were they still pretending this was about the damned bedding? Fine, then, she knew how to play games if that's what he wanted. "You'll excuse me if I don't like the idea of sleeping on sheets your dead wife bought." Her eyes strayed to the bed, as if she could see beneath the down comforter to the crisp white sheets beneath. "We've been sleeping on them for close to a month. Haven't you even noticed they were different?"

When he spoke again, his voice was very careful. "It's not the fact you replaced them, Emma. It's just…

His sudden memories of his wife's red hair against their old cheap yellow sheets wasn't helping her think of anything clever to say. "Jean might have gone for the serviceable and reasonably priced, but that's not who I am. The sooner you learn that, the better, darling."

"I like who you are," he said.

"And you like the sheets," she reminded him, eyes half-lidded as she slid a pen between her lips and sucked on the end. A peek into his mind showed his thoughts straying to her mouth wrapped around other things, which suited her just fine. "Don't you?"

"I guess I do." He sounded kind of guilty, but she let it go. She didn't really want to fight, and he wasn't thinking about Jean anymore, so that was enough.

For now. 

"Then there's no problem." She slid off the desk and returned to where he stood; this time, he relaxed in her embrace as she maneuvered herself against him so that her body was flush against his, breasts pressed into his chest.

"I suppose not. The next time you want to spend a lot of money on something I'm going to end up paying half of, think you could let me know?"

She looked up at him with widened eyes. "If you're going to have to pay for something, Scott, believe me. I'll let you know about it."

He gave a sharp laugh. "I don't doubt it." His fingers reached out and slowly wrapped in her hair. "So. Three hundred dollars. I feel like we should get our money's worth out of them," he said seriously, but his mouth turned up at the edge. 

_Much better._ Emma nodded. "The sheets are designed to withstand frequent washing and frequent…well. It didn't say that on the package, but why else would you wash them frequently? And," she said, fingers nimbly unbuttoning his crisply starched linen shirt, a lovely shade of blue she thought quite matched her eyes, "The more you wash them, the softer they become."

"Extra incentive," he agreed, helping her take off his shirt. She saw a flash in his mind of her on the bed, and the sheets were white, and it was _her_ hair spread out on the pillow.

Emma kissed him, fingers sliding up his neck, her nails scratching his scalp just the way he liked. They'd be late for dinner, and when they went downstairs everyone would know why. Kitty would glare, Logan would make some crass comment, and Hank would change the subject to politics or something else equally tedious. Scott's hands smoothed down her back, sliding under her top, and she found she really didn't care what the others would say about their inevitable tardiness. 

The cotton sheets were smooth and cool beneath her naked back. Scott's body was warm and hard beneath her fingertips. "The sheets really are nice," he murmured against her neck. "Worth that three hundred dollars after all."

"Mmm," Emma murmured, stretching cat-like beneath him. "Told you so."

She was glad he hadn't asked what she'd done with the old sheets, the one she'd stripped from the bed he'd shared with Jean. She'd thought about just putting them in the staff linen closet, but that wasn't what she'd done.

Cheap cotton smelled very bad when it burned.


End file.
